Roll Over Beethoven
by NeonWilderness1
Summary: An aging rocker learns the truth when he looks at the reflection on the wall.


**Roll Over Beethoven**

"Roll over Beethoven and dig these rhythm and blues." The thunderous applause, of the whole five people watching me, hits me like a tidal wave as I play out one last blues ridden lick on my guitar, or Cassandra as I like to call her. A vintage 1958 Ebony Gibson Les Paul, she looks just Keith Richards favoured choice. As I step off stage I am handed a drink from one of my long time fans. Ernie the milkman, his cart is the fastest in the west. The others graciously reward me with the usual but never tiresome praise. "Well done, Ronnie", "Hope you're back on again soon", "When's the next show" and so on and so forth. I graciously accept the praises and take my drink over to the bar where the Irish bartender, Séamus, hands me over a well earned sum of twenty quid. Smirking to myself, remembering a time when I would have been paid a hell of a lot more than twenty pound as Séamus retreats into the back muttering something about potatoes. Still slightly lost within the adrenaline still pumping around my brain, I take my drink, limping slightly as I feel my legs begin to hurt, over to a table on its own where my own company can be enjoyed by myself.

You know when you're on stage, you feel on top of the world. All of a sudden you're a young man again, when wearing nothing but the same colour of denim was popular. All of a sudden you can dive around the stage with you're guitar, dance around the stage like Jagger. The excitement, the adrenaline, that edge that you had as a kid all of a sudden is returned to you, a gift from god. Things change. After thirty years of being a failed musician, the peak of fans I once had of hundreds, tonight had been whittled down to an all time low of five. I've began to notice other things tonight as well. When I came of stage I barley made it. My knees just wouldn't bend, the strain that had been put on them from moving around the stage, no longer rewarded me with crowd satisfaction but instead with excruciating pain stinging my joints, I worry sometimes that if I bend them to far, an old weathered knee cap is going to spring out, kill someone. Tragic, but funny, I mean it would be front page news "Old bone rammed in face". It doesn't end at the knees either, I've started having to pry each finger wrapped around my guitar neck off. They get into such a deadlock that if there isn't a crowbar near by, amputation would be easier.

Whilst having a quite chuckle to myself that's when the truth really hit me. Just by chance, a glance in the mirror next to me showed me everything. The very same denim iv had for thirty years. The very same hair stretching down my back, I've had that for as long as I've been performing too. Very same brown eyes I've had all my days. The very same squint nose that got broken when I played in the wrong bar, that was nearly thirty years ago now as well. Amazing how time has flown. However there was one thing that disturbed me at the very moment in time. One thing that I had unconsciously ignored up until this moment. One thing I hadn't had for the thirty years of playing music, or the twenty six years before that. That one thing was the wrinkled worn face of a tired, lonely old man, still trying to live a dream that had long set sail, vanishing over the horizon a long, long time ago.

That was when I realised my performing days and rock star dream was over, I guess it was when I realised I needed a hair cut. Not to short of course, but I mean it was longer than most girls, this was a necessary change. At fifty six not many men could carry this look of, most being content with the receding hair line and the tweed trousers. I must admit it was an immediate realisation of the truth. But instead the beginning. As I limped through town the next day, my aching legs not letting me forget the trauma I had put them through the night before. My mind became paranoid, everybody was looking at me, or were they. Did they look at me and laugh, or was that smile just a friendly gesture. What was that girl whispering to the other, was it about me or not, they giggled and looked over. Did they think I looked old. What is he doing over there with the pen and paper, why is he looking at me, is he writing about my clothes. Don't I look fashionable any more. Now I look around nobody is wearing only denim. Damn it that curly haired boy is still looking over and scribbling away.

The paranoia led to my retirement from performing. With it was paved the way for a new image. Lets not get carried away hear, I don't want you thinking that I'm content to sit around in a fluffy pair of slippers, drinking some nice hot milk, whilst putting in place plans for a stair lift. But with more formal dress, a shirt and trousers for example, I've managed to come across as quite a cool old man rather than an old man trying to be a cool kid. From time to time I'll still perform, but most of my time is now dedicated to teaching the younger generation my guitar techniques, maybe someday one of them will achieve what this old man could not. The time was right to roll over and let the next generation take over, the time comes to everyone no matter who they are, or what walk of life they are in. Even Beethoven had to roll over for rhythm and blues.


End file.
